


Night of the Hunter

by bone_orchard



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Not Skaters, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Biting, Boss Victor Nikiforov, Boss/Employee Relationship, Canon Aged Katsuki Yuuri, Dom Katsuki Yuuri, Explicit Sexual Content, Light Bondage, M/M, Marking, Older Victor Nikiforov, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, PA Kastuki Yuuri, Sub Victor Nikiforov
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2019-04-05 09:17:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14041047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bone_orchard/pseuds/bone_orchard
Summary: Yuuri likes older men - likes them begging and broken, their cool composure torn to bits with his teeth, expensive tastes laid to waste under clever, irreverent hands. He likes luring them in, unsuspecting prey that fancy themselves hunters until Yuuri unveils the vicious truth.Viktor Nikiforov, his new boss, is the man of his dirtiest dreams.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is an idea that grew out of bounds too quickly. Enjoy.

Viktor Nikiforov is beautiful the way oceans are beautiful; an endless, ageless beauty that leaves the beholder awed and painfully conscious of their own inferiority.

Yuuri aches for him from the first sight.

He’s glad too, in a distant sort of way, that it was Nikiforov’s brother and not the man himself that conducted the interview. Yuri Plisetsky is intimidating in his own right and gorgeous too, but Yuuri has practice working through his nerves, and Plisetsky’s youthful looks aren’t the kind to appeal to Yuuri, let alone fluster him. And so he gets the job, somehow.

The first day is a disaster.

It’s not that Yuuri’s incapable of the work, not when he has a Master’s in Business Administration gathering dust in a pale blue file in his desk, but at the first sight of Nikiforov, silver-haired and severe, his equilibrium is shot and doesn’t quite reassemble itself until seven hours and three spilled coffees and a myriad of other minor accidents have passed. The looks the others in the office shoot him are pitying. There’s nothing so human in Nikiforov’s brilliant blue eyes.

Yuuri’s shocked by the vehemence with which he wants to see them wide and dazed with helpless desire.

After that, it’s easy to slip into a role, to play a part he resorted to with desperation over five years of college and honed to perfection in the two years of leisurely pleasure that followed.

He widens his eyes, bites his lips, and lets faint red dust his cheeks; the very picture of chastised innocence.

Nikiforov’s marble face doesn’t so much as twitch, but there’s something in his eyes, a telltale flicker that speaks of interest.

Yuuri keeps his job and doesn’t repeat his mistakes. All too soon, life and work settle into a deceptively mundane rhythm.

Working as a personal assistant to one of the richest men in the country, at the end of the day, boils down to being a glorified errand boy, albeit one with a salary that makes Yuuri’s eyes bulge. It says something that even so, the man behind the money is more of a draw than the money itself.

Yuuri never gets used to Nikiforov, not really. It’s hard, sometimes, to gaze too long at his perfect face without wanting to slide his hands through that meticulously styled hair or sink his teeth into pursed pink lips or press his fingers against knife-edged cheekbones until they leave a mark. Yuuri never lets any of it show, and the things Nikiforov does see when he catches Yuuri staring are the sort that make those sharp blue eyes go dark and predatory.

Yuuri’s aware that seduction, in general, tends to be more straightforward, but this is the way he’s wired and he’s long since accepted that. He doesn’t think, anyway, that a blunt approach will help him catch Nikiforov, who’s turned self-possession into an art form. It’s impressive, even if Yuuri spends most of his time wondering how it would feel to tear that composure to shreds. He thinks, too, about how repressed Nikiforov must be, always in control, always unmoved, more machine than man.

Yuuri won’t lie and say he wants to help him. He’s a selfish creature and all he wants is Nikiforov bared to his desires. But if that can help the man, well, Yuuri will see that as a convenient bonus.

In the end, he doesn’t have to wait too long.

Three months into his new job, Yuuri gets a call on a Saturday from the boss himself. He’s not supposed to work on weekends and they both know it, but Viktor’s voice is almost soft when he asks Yuuri to bring in some papers that he absolutely does not need and the implications there are obvious enough that Yuuri’s hesitance before agreeing is more for show than out of any real reluctance.

Excitement coils tight in his gut, greater even than the nervousness.

He could lose his job, but Yuuri’s not attached to the company, he’s attached to Nikiforov.

Well, he supposes now’s as good a time as any to start calling him Viktor.

Viktor lives in a penthouse – because of course he does. Yuuri is escorted to his door by one of Viktor’s drivers, a pleasant though quiet man mostly recognizable through his excess of eyeshadow. Yuuri thinks his name is Georgi.

Yuuri waits till Georgi returns to the elevator before knocking on the door.

Viktor opens it several seconds later, dressed to the nines in a smart gray suit and a tie that matches his eyes. He barely looks at the folders Yuuri hands him before putting them away.

The tattered remnants of subtlety fly through the window when Viktor takes Yuuri by the hand and leads him to the elaborately arranged dinner table. The surprise on Yuuri’s face in genuine, if only because he was expecting Viktor to take him straight to bed rather than waste time with such pleasantries. He never pegged Viktor for a man who’s into wining and dining his flings but what does Yuuri know? He hasn’t known him long and spent most of that time fantasizing about how Viktor would look out of his expensive suits.

“I thought we were going to work,” Yuuri says out of some distant sense of obligation.

Viktor gives him a smile and a wink that makes him look some ten years younger.

“We are,” he answers, voice low and deep and sinking right into Yuuri’s gut. “But it’s late, and I would make a very bad master if I make my employee work on an empty stomach.”

 _Master_ – Yuuri barely holds back a snort.

Viktor, eyeing Yuuri carefully and undoubtedly seeing the complicated expressions passing through his face, gives him a slow, seductive smirk. It works, in a way, even if it forces Yuuri to hold back another laugh over the channel of misunderstandings between them.

No matter. They’ll be solved, one way or the other, by tonight.

Dinner is delicious, and Yuuri is masterfully diverted from his true intentions by the explosion of flavors in his mouth.

“Wow,” he breathes after the first bite. “This is really good!”

Viktor’s smile is wide and smug.

“I made it,” is all he says.

“You cook?” Yuuri asks and his incredulity is not feigned. It _is_ probably offensive, but the twist of Viktor’s mouth only screams amusement.

“I’m a forty year old man living by myself, Yuuri. Of course I cook.”

Yuuri ducks his head and shovels food into his mouth so that he doesn’t have to answer.

The rest of dinner is uneventful and silent. Yuuri feels Viktor’s eyes on him like a physical weight and sneaks in looks of his own, quick and darting, not letting himself hold that gaze despite every instinct screaming at him to. That will come later, if Viktor allows.

After dinner, they retire to the couch, the dishes left in the sink at Viktor’s insistence. They both play at productivity, but they sit too close, touch too often, and speak too little to truly get any work done.

When Viktor’s hand splays over his thigh, warm and firm, Yuuri gives up the facade.

“Where are you going with this?” Yuuri asks, idly covering Viktor’s hand in his own. He puts down his tablet on the table and turns so that he’s looking at Viktor. Whatever he sees in Yuuri’s face, it makes him sit a little straighter and frown in confusion.

“Will you take me to bed?” Yuuri continues, letting humor thread through the words. “Awe me with your prowess, leave me wanting more?”

“Yuuri,” Viktor says, calm but not without a question hidden in there. “I wouldn’t make you do anything you don’t want to. You can trust me.”

Yuuri can’t help it this time – he laughs.

The look on Viktor’s face is worth spoiling the game. And it’s not really spoiled anyway; they’re just moving to the next phase. Yuuri was running out of patience anyway, driven to distraction each night by sweeter, filthier visions of Viktor Nikiforov bound and debauched. Keeping himself contained at work, not giving away any of the truth of his thoughts, was getting harder. He’s grateful to Viktor for finally making the first move like Yuuri hoped he would.

“You’re cute,” Yuuri says, and Viktor makes a face like being called cute is akin to being called puppy-kicking madman.

Yuuri takes the hand Viktor still has on his leg and raises it to his lips, pressing a teasing kiss to the knuckles.

“What did you expect to happen tonight, Mr. Nikiforov?”

“I-”

“Sex, obviously,” Yuuri says when Viktor seems tongue-tied. “I doubt you wanted to woo your poor, nervous wreck of a PA. I appreciate the dinner though. Nice atmosphere. You got game for an old man.”

Viktor looks like he’s swallowed a fish, and Yuuri decides to take pity on him.

“I kid. You’re a very handsome man,” he tells him, reaching over to tug at a strand of Viktor’s hair. The gelled silver strand is stiff under his touch but falls forth over Viktor’s forehead, right over a pair of startled eyes. “I kind of want to make you cry.”

Viktor makes a choked sound and jerks his hand out of Yuuri’s.

Yuuri stands, stepping closer to Viktor, right between his legs, pushing them further apart with his own. Viktor lets it happen, leaning back a little when Yuuri moves to stand as near as he can to him. There’s shock and wariness in his eyes, the expression a far cry from his typical coldness or even the rarer looks of careful interest he usually shot at Yuuri. It’s not fear, not quite, but if Viktor would like, Yuuri can make that happen too.

He catches Viktor’s chin in his hands. Viktor jolts, his hand flying up to wrap around Yuuri’s wrist, not tugging it away, just holding.

“What are you doing?” Viktor asks, deathly quiet.

“Not what you expected me to, clearly,” Yuuri replies cheerfully. His heart pounds in his chest, moths fluttering through his ribs, full of the uncertainly that he cannot let himself show. “I don’t want a master, as you so kindly offered, Nikiforov. No, Viktor.”

Viktor’s eyes narrow.

Yuuri bends until his forehead is nearly resting on Viktor’s.

“But I can master you, if you’d like.”

“Unhand me,” Viktor says, a sharp order.

Yuuri tightens his grip.

“Make me.”

He expects Viktor to slap his hand away or pry his face out of his grasp or even bodily push Yuuri away from him. He does none of these things. Instead, his throat works in convulsive swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing tantalizingly, while he stares at Yuuri with a curiously vulnerable expression. Yuuri watches, mesmerized, as the faintest pink creeps over his ears, threatening to spill over into his face.

“Oh,” Yuuri breathes. “That’s how it is.”

Viktor purses his lips, perilously close to a pout. He looks an entirely different man than the one Yuuri is familiar with; gentler and exquisite and begging to be broken.

“What do you want?” Viktor murmurs, eyes boring into Yuuri’s.

“You,” Yuuri answers easily. “Screaming, begging, broken.”

Viktor’s eyes widen, a wild shudder wracking his frame.

“You’re crossing a line,” he warns Yuuri, voice harsh save for the way it catches at the end. Yuuri trails his fingers up Viktor’s face and digs them into the soft flesh right under those killer cheekbones.

“What are you gonna do? Fire me? Go ahead. I’m not there for the riveting work. I’m there because I want you in my bed, a pretty puppet dancing on my strings.”

Viktor doesn’t seem to know what to say to that, and seeing his glazed eyes, Yuuri has to wonder how much of that is because he’s imagining the picture Yuuri is painting with his words.

“You’re so _collected_ , Viktor. All the time. Isn’t it hard? Doesn’t it hurt? I can help, you know. You won’t have to think, to plan – not even speak perhaps. I’ll take care of you.”

“Completely selfless, of course,” Viktor says, mocking even while breathless. It’s a little impressive.

“No,” Yuuri says, baring his teeth. “Of course not. Didn’t I say? I want to make you cry.”

This time, Viktor’s shudder is accompanied by the faintest of gasps.

Yuuri takes that as his cue to let go and back off, leaving a respectable distance between himself and Viktor. He likes the way Viktor suddenly looks so lost, like he can’t comprehend why Yuuri’s so far away.

“I’m going home now,” he tells Viktor. “Let me know your decision. Or well, fire me, I guess.”

Viktor says nothing. Yuuri shrugs, flashes him a slightly less sharp smile, and turns on his heels, marching out of the room before he can dig himself a deeper hole. He’s done enough.

It’s up to Viktor now.

 

* * *

 

Most of his composure evaporates once he’s alone in his flat with unemployment a very real, very near concern. It’s a possibility he has always been aware of, a risk he chose to take the moment he blushed sweetly for Viktor and laid a trap. That doesn’t make it any less daunting.

Yuuri crawls into his couch, hugs his sweet puppy close, and breathes and breathes and breathes.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Georgi knocks at his door, greeting Yuuri’s sleep-deprived form with a puzzled smile before telling him that Mr. Nikiforov expects him at his house in one hour.

Yuuri thinks Viktor clearly doesn’t get how little Yuuri appreciates orders but nods and makes a beeline for the bathroom.

 

* * *

 

“I’m going to guess,” Yuuri says when Viktor opens the door, “that you didn’t make me come all the way here just to fire me.”

Viktor’s expression is blank, and he’s quiet when he steps back in silent invitation. Yuuri shrugs, swallows a nervous exhale, and follows him to the living room. Viktor wordlessly directs him towards the couch, and Yuuri sits down equally quietly, not taking his eyes off Viktor who gracefully folds himself into the chair opposite him.

For once, Viktor isn’t wearing a suit. The wine red sweater and carefully pressed black slacks are just as stunning, seductively hugging the sharp, defined lines of his body, but the ultimate effect is less severe, more…approachable. Yuuri doesn’t think for a moment that it’s not a carefully calculated effect, but even he has to admit that it’s hard to tear his gaze away from the tantalizing dip of the V-necked collar and form coherent thoughts.

Viktor’s wearing a hint of a smirk when Yuuri drags his gaze back. Yuuri returns it with one of his own, letting the hunger curling hot and thick in his belly seep through.

Viktor straightens, hands clenching on the arms of the chair.

“So?” Yuuri asks when the silence threatens to stretch on infinitely. “Why am I here, Viktor?”

“You tell me,” Viktor answers. “You’re certainly insolent enough.”

His bark of laughter surprises even Yuuri, though Viktor’s consternated frown is ample reward for the momentary slip.

“Clearly, you don’t mind. I’m here, after all.”

Viktor’s frown darkens but he doesn’t protest. And now that Yuuri’s not distracted by Viktor’s collarbones, he can appreciate the uncertainty betrayed by the tightness at the corners of Viktor’s mouth and the restless tap of his fingers on the chair.

“Do you want me, Viktor?” Yuuri asks, voice lowered, dripping with intent.

Viktor’s answering nod is curt, like it’s a concession torn out of him.

Yuuri stands, walking over to Viktor who stiffens but stays seated, stubbornly keeping his eyes on Yuuri. He braces his arms on top of the chair, right above Viktor’s shoulders, looming over him with a friendly grin.

“And how do you want me?”

Finally, there’s a spark in Viktor’s eyes, a tendril of fire that calls forth an answering flame inside Yuuri.

“I believe that’s my question, Yuuri.”

This time, Yuuri’s laugh is delighted and warms him down to his bones. He presses that last breath of laughter to Viktor’s lips, savoring the slightly dry softness of them. He doesn’t deepen it, even when everything about him cries out for just one taste.

It won’t be just one taste, Yuuri knows. Viktor’s _too much_ for anything between them to ever be so simple.

“Let’s talk it out then,” Yuuri says, pulling away, grabbing Viktor by the hands and pulling him up as he goes. “We have many things to discuss.”

“Do we?” Viktor questions drily but allows Yuuri to tug him over to the couch.

“Mm, so many things. Hard limits, soft limits, safe words – I would hate to hurt you, Viktor.”

“The impression I received last night was that you would, in fact, love nothing more than to hurt me.”

For a moment, Yuuri’s caught off guard by the flash of actual humor in Viktor’s words. There’s no smile on his face but there’s a curious twinkle in his eyes. Yuuri smiles fondly and runs his hand up Viktor’s neck, thumbing his cheek before sliding into his hair, sifting the strands through his fingers. The way Viktor leans into the touch in unmistakable and oddly adorable.

“I will hurt you,” Yuuri promises him. “And I’ll take care of you.”

Viktor shivers lightly, eye lids fluttering. He’s beautiful, but he’ll be exquisite once Yuuri’s done with him.

He smiles at Viktor again, and this time, Viktor smiles back.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a tumblr: [orchard-of-bones](https://orchard-of-bones.tumblr.com/)
> 
> There’s not much content yet, but I plan mostly to post extracts from what I’m writing and the like. Asks, anon included, are enabled.

“Comfortable?”

Yuuri watches as Viktor tugs at the padded cuffs tying his wrists to the headboard, seemingly more to test their strength than out of any desire to be released. When he’s content that he’ll remain firmly bound, he lets his arms go limp and nods, not quite meeting Yuuri’s eyes.

It’s cute.

Viktor hasn’t been…shy, not that. But there’s a reticence to his movements, something almost like embarrassment on the edges of his lips even as he lets Yuuri touch him and strip him and arrange him like a pretty doll. It’s not from lack of desire; Yuuri’s made quite sure of that. His best guess would be that Viktor, even as he wants this, is not entirely willing to accept that he wants this.

That’s fine though. Yuuri’s always happy with works in progress, and there’s a certain appeal to this new, uncertain facet of Viktor – except when he tries to cover it up with barbed versions of his usual confidence.

“Is this it?” he asks, something like disdain coloring the words, giving them an unpleasant edge.

“Yes,” Yuuri replies pleasantly. “I trust that you can keep your legs spread yourself.”

He did bring a spreader bar, just in case, but he says that more for the pleasure of watching Viktor squirm. And squirm he does, eyes half-closing as he turns his head to the side, a pitiful attempt to hide that only exposes the pink flush of his ears and neck to Yuuri’s hungry gaze.

“What were you expecting?” Yuuri asks, deceptively casual, because he’s never claimed to be _nice_. “Whips and chains? I have them, if you’re so eager. But let’s start easy, shall we? I’d hate to break you by going too fast.”

It’s almost predictable, the way Viktor swells with indignation.

It’s impressive too, how, even when bound and under Yuuri’s mercy, he clings to the wisps of his authority.

“I’m not a blushing virgin, Katsuki,” Viktor tells him, voice cold. “This is nothing I’m unfamiliar with.”

It’s a good thing, Yuuri decides, that he has plenty of experience handling rich, powerful men desperate to lose control and terrified of the same. His way of paying for college may have struck some as questionable, and granted, there were a few unsavory incidents, but on the whole, it prepared him well to withstand men like Viktor Nikiforov and then take them apart, piece by piece.

“I’m sure,” Yuuri returns drily, reaching over to trace the skin around one of the cuffs. “But have you ever been on this end of it?”

Viktor’s silence is telling.

Yuuri smirks, a little triumphant, but he thinks it’s justified. He has Viktor Nikiforov in bed, all spread out like a pretty painting.

And he really is pretty, which isn’t an epithet typically applicable to forty year old men with the commanding presence of a king. Viktor is a lot of other things too; handsome, beautiful, elegant, stunning…

But now, he’s just really pretty.

Yuuri’s fairly sure he’s developing a bit of an obsession with his hair, but the way it feathers over the dark pillowcase like spilt starlight is a sight he would die for. And Viktor’s _body_ – Yuuri’s very happy that Viktor’s work attire is confined to suits that leave nothing below neck bared because he will never get any work done if Viktor ever wears anything even remotely revealing. He managed to mostly ignore it while he was getting Viktor into this position, but now he’s free to look all he wants, and gods, he loves what he sees.

Viktor’s all solid muscle and smooth skin; he looks sturdy and easily bruised, and Yuuri wants to devour him whole.

“Take a picture,” Viktor says, interrupting Yuuri’s silent ogling. “It’ll last longer.”

Yuuri sighs, resisting the urge to slam his face into the nearest wall.

“Viktor, if you want to be gagged, you can always just ask.”

Viktor freezes, eyes all wide and dark like the response has shocked him to the core. Yuuri raises an eyebrow expectantly.

“I’m not,” Viktor finally says, and the waver in his voice isn’t lost on either of them.

“Well, I wouldn’t have used it even if you had. I want to hear your voice.”

Viktor’s scowl is almost comical, mostly because it’s incongruous amidst the bright pink of his cheeks. Yuuri has to wonder what his coworkers will think, seeing Viktor like this, but the thought is followed by a violent sense of rejection. He never wants to know. This Viktor is his, the beautiful vulnerability of him arousing a strange possessiveness inside Yuuri.

He bends, catching Viktor in a sudden kiss that pulls a gasp out of him. Yuuri drinks in the sound, flicks out his tongue for a quick taste, and pulls back with heated satisfaction curling in his gut.

Kissing is intimate, and not something he often indulges in, but Viktor, with his pink lips parted in gentle surprise, might change his mind before the night’s out.

Yuuri shifts so that he’s seated between Viktor’s legs instead of straddling him, pushing a little at his thighs to spread him wider. The pillow he slid under Viktor’s hips when they began leaves him in the perfect position for Yuuri to feast his eyes on.

“Aren’t you going to undress?” Viktor asks, pulling Yuuri’s eyes back to his face. A part of him is tempted not to answer and let his actions do the talking, but he can discern the strain in Viktor’s voice and the nervousness in his darting gaze.

“No,” Yuuri says, gently stroking Viktor’s flank. “Not yet. This is fine.”

It’s not the most subtle thing, remaining dressed while Viktor is as bare as the day he was born, especially not when he went to the trouble of putting on his best suit for the occasion. Then again, from the way Viktor’s eyes have been lingering over him since the moment he stepped in through the door, the desired effect has been attained.

“Well,” Viktor huffs. “At least you’re not wearing one of those terrible ties.”

Yuuri blinks, confused. He’s not wearing a tie at all. He doesn’t even like them, but he wears them to work some days because he feels terribly underdressed amidst all the sharp suits and pencil skirts around him. It’s hardly shocking that Viktor, who wears branded clothing and has a walk-in closet the size of Yuuri’s entire apartment, isn’t impressed by his wardrobe.

“I might gag you after all,” he says in the end. “Or put that mouth to better use. Do be quiet, Viktor.”

“Or what? You’ll spank me?”

Viktor flushes even brighter the moment he’s done speaking but meets Yuuri’s eyes defiantly. It’s still cute, in a way that makes Yuuri want to do precisely as suggested. He doesn’t mind his subs a little mouthy, but the deliberate needling Viktor seems to be resorting to, probably to cover up his anxiousness, is as irritating as endearing.

“I could,” Yuuri answers, drawling the words, just on this side of mocking. “But there are more creative ways of punishment. We’ll have to find out which works best for you.”

Viktor frowns, looking like he’s about to say something else, but Yuuri curls a hand around his cock before he can.

It’s a lovely thing, long and curved and as pretty as the rest of Viktor. A few idle strokes and it fills out in Yuuri’s hand, flushing pink, the head gleaming under the foreskin. Viktor is silent, teeth sunk into his lower lip, and Yuuri just flashes him a teasing smile before letting go.

The lube is there beside them, and Yuuri squeezes out a generous amount, slicking up his fingers before nudging them between Viktor’s cheeks. His rim twitches under his touch just as Viktor’s body trembles with a violent shudder. The look on his face is precious, a heady blend of anticipation and trepidation.

“Did you clean up like I asked?” Yuuri asks, and this time, there’s no sassy comeback, just a jerky nod.

“Good,” Yuuri says simply, sliding one finger inside Viktor.

It’s tight and warm, sucking him in with seductive ease. Yuuri’s mouth parts in a sigh even as Viktor makes a soft, strangled sound. Yuuri considered using gloves, and there is some appeal in the way black latex would look over Viktor’s pale skin, but then he would be deprived of _this_ – the heat and softness with which Viktor’s flesh gives way to him.

The second one slides in just as sweetly, Viktor’s hole pink and glistening around the intrusion. His expression is just as exquisite, heavy-lidded eyes and a gasping mouth. Yuuri’s torn between watching Viktor’s face and watching him get fingered, so he settles for flitting between the two and clamping down on his own climbing arousal.

Viktor is surprisingly, or perhaps unsurprisingly, pliant. He makes these sounds, faint, ragged things that seem ripped out of him with each twist and turn of Yuuri’s fingers inside him. And the way his legs tremble, toes curling against the sheets and thigh muscles bulging with strain, is a sight that will get Yuuri through many lonely nights.

The room is silent save for the wet sounds of his fingers thrusting deeper into Viktor and the quiet answering gasps. Yuuri crooks his fingers, entranced by the way Viktor’s hole clenches around them, and dreams of how he will sound when Yuuri finally makes him scream.

The third one earns him a moan, low and breathy, and Yuuri pauses for a moment, closing his eyes as the sound dances across his skin. Viktor shows exactly how little he appreciates that brief interlude by driving his hips down, taking the finger to the knuckle in a swift, hot slide.

Yuuri frowns, disappointed, and pulls all three out.

The rough, devastated cry that leaves Viktor is music to his ears.

“You’ll take what I give you when I give it you at the pace I decide,” Yuuri says quietly, not in the mood for teasing. “Do you understand, Viktor?”

Those brilliant blue eyes look almost lost when they meet Yuuri’s gaze, swirling with things even Yuuri can’t name. In the end, they slip shut and Viktor nods once, firmly.

“Say it.”

Viktor’s lips thin, displeasure making itself known, and for a moment, Yuuri thinks he’ll refuse.

“Yes,” Viktor says, voice hoarse. “I understand.”

Yuuri allows himself a small smile, though it goes unseen anyway.

“That’s good, Viktor.”

This time, he’s less gentle, sliding in all three together, his own breath stuttering in his throat at the way Viktor opens up for him, rim stretched wide and glistening prettily. He indulges, just a little, thrusting them in and out with varying force, carefully noting how Viktor twitches when a finger accidentally brushes his prostate, the full-bodied shudder when that pressure is deliberate and insistent, and the helpless little cry that spills from his lips when Yuuri hooks his fingers over his hole and _tugs_.

There’s sweat gleaming on his torso and sticking his hair to his face, the overall effect one of breathtaking beauty. Yuuri’s too hot under his suit, free hand itching with the need to tear it all off. He contents himself with touching Viktor, pressing finger-shaped bruises to one milky thigh and relishing in the way it tenses under his grip.

“You can take more,” Yuuri murmurs. It’s not a question, and by the way Viktor’s eyes widen and his walls clamp around Yuuri, he knows.

Viktor keens, high and desperate, when the fourth finger edges in, and it’s the sweetest sound Yuuri has ever heard.

“Ah, hah, wait, wait,” Viktor gasps, pulling at his bound arms like he wants to reach down and stop Yuuri. But his legs and hips remain utterly still, and Yuuri gets a little thrill because _look_ , how easily this man can be trained.

“No,” he answers, sliding the finger in, the others crooking inside Viktor in a brutal attempt to make room. “See, you’re taking it so well.”

Viktor shakes his head, eyes huge and unseeing. His mouth falls open when all four fingers are fully inside, begging to have something shoved inside it. Yuuri vaguely wishes he could clone himself, but for now, he has to be satisfied with the sharp arch of Viktor’s back when Yuuri spreads all four fingers and stretches his hole to the limit.

Viktor collapses, panting heavily. His hands are fisted over the cuffs, clenching and unclenching to the uneven rhythm of his breaths. His cock stands hard and curved between his legs, precum dripping down its length. Yuuri takes it in his left hand, thumbing the slit. He pulls away, fingers wet, and sucks them off one by one, loving the taste of Viktor and the hungry way he looks at Yuuri.

All the while, his fingers fuck Viktor gently and then not, too much and too little in turns.

“Think you could come like this?” Yuuri asks, not surprised when it takes three tries for Viktor to produce a coherent reply.

“No,” he manages to gasp, head shaking side to side.

“Pity. Not a surprise, considering your age.”

If Viktor finds that insulting, he doesn’t show it, probably because he seems to fighting not to ride Yuuri’s fingers. He doesn’t quite succeed, hips moving in small, jerky motions, though Yuuri decides he can be excused this time.

His own dick, trapped in two layers of clothing, throbs pitifully.

It’s tempting to try and push Viktor into taking more because _god_ , he’d be gorgeous impaled on Yuuri’s fist, but he bites back the instinct, literally, teeth digging sharply into his lip.

A few more minutes of teasing thrusting is all it takes for Viktor to break.

“Fuck me,” comes the plea dressed in a demand, Viktor’s voice cracking halfway into something like a whine.

“Eventually,” Yuuri returns, flattening his fingers and easing them half the way out so that Viktor is spread open on the widest part of them. It robs him of the breath to protest, only breathless whimpers escaping.

Yuuri presses a soothing kiss to Viktor’s knee, nuzzling the side of it before he trails his mouth up, peppering kisses along the inside of his thigh. Muscles jump under his tongue, the limb quivering like it wants to wrench away but can’t. Yuuri takes the choice away, closing his teeth around a plump sliver of flesh and biting down _hard_.

Viktor’s scream is viscerally satisfying.

Yuuri pulls out his fingers before it even dies out, grinning around his mouthful when Viktor whines dejectedly. It’s lovely, the way he’s so much more vocal now, all that control from earlier ground to dust. It’s not enough because Yuuri’s greedy and _ravenous_ and won’t be satisfied until Viktor lies limp under him, stripped down to his soul, but he can be patient, can take it easy, can play him like fine-tuned instrument until Viktor willingly breaks himself apart for Yuuri.

He presses a kiss to the abused flesh, pulling back with a smile, happy to see the skin where his mouth was an angry red.

“Don’t stop,” Viktor begs, no pretense this time. His eyes are wild and beautiful. “Please, I need it, I–”

Yuuri climbs over Viktor’s leg and crawls up to lie beside him, loving the way Viktor follows his movements with that hungry gaze. His arms are tense, almost unconsciously tugging at the cuffs as he tries to reach for Yuuri.

For a few moments punctuated with Viktor’s harsh breathing, Yuuri just stares at him, drinking in the sight.

He could just fuck him. The state he’s in, Viktor would thank him for it. Yuuri’s cock definitely would.

But it’s not enough, not yet, and looking at the pale expanse of Viktor’s body, Yuuri knows exactly what he wants.

“Please,” Viktor whispers, lips red from how he’s bitten them so hard.

And Yuuri’s not one to kiss much or deeply, but Viktor has him breaking that rule with reckless abandon. It’s worth it for the way he opens up for Yuuri, mouth hot and slack as if inviting him to just lick inside and take what he wants. So Yuuri does, cupping his face with the hand not messy with lube, angling him just right for their mouths slot sweetly together.

It’s tempting to dig in his nails to the smooth skin under them and tear with his teeth at the plump lips gasping against his, but he has to be _careful_ with Viktor. He can’t mark places people can see, leave no evidence that will mar the picture perfect elegance Viktor wears like a second skin. That was one of the conditions he put forward and Yuuri accepted with no reservation.

It’s fine. There’s plenty of Viktor that will be hidden safely under layers of clothes and all of that belongs to Yuuri.

But first, he kisses Viktor like a man drowning, kisses him deep and hard, light and teasing, wet and filthy, until his lips are numb and his head spinning with the taste of him.

He still misses Viktor when he breaks away, though it’s almost worth it to see Viktor with glazed eyes and flushed skin, panting as he gazes at Yuuri with unfeigned helplessness.

Yuuri has to kiss him again, a gentle peck this time, laughing breathlessly when Viktor tries to chase his lips. Yuuri doesn’t go far, just mouth his way down Viktor’s neck, keeping his teeth to himself with no small amount of restraint. He lingers above Viktor’s pulse, closing his eyes to savor the way it beats swift and hot under his lips. He wants to close his mouth around it, wants to hold Viktor’s life in his teeth, but he doesn’t, only brushes a gentle kiss to it before making his way further down.

Viktor squirms, chest heaving under Yuuri’s lips as he maps it out with playful nips and open-mouthed kisses, sucking gently at the skin and pulling back to admire the way it turns pink for a few seconds. He takes a moment to meet Viktor’s eyes, happy to see him staring down at Yuuri like a man enchanted.

Then Yuuri lowers his head, sucks a mark to his shoulder, and bites down on the still-hot skin.

Viktor jerks violently, body arching up, and Yuuri rides the movement with a little laugh, not letting go of his prize until he’s sure his teeth will leave imprints on Viktor’s skin. He does the same, again and again, methodically working his way over Viktor’s torso, worrying pretty bruises onto toned muscle and soft skin, entranced by Viktor’s reactions; his helpless cries and writhing body. A touch of tongue on one firm nipple earns him a gasped curse; tugging at it with his teeth ends in a sound that’s not quite a shout but comes beautifully close. Yuuri keeps it up, fingers and mouth working both nipples under they’re red and puffy and rips keening noises out of Viktor at even the lightest touch.

Yuuri’s almost painfully hard, far beyond the point where he can ignore it, when he stops his exploration and sits back up, critically surveying his work.

Viktor is a _mess_ , his chest and stomach a patchwork of blooming bruises. His eyes are screwed shut, expression twisted like he’s in pain, and his lower lip bleeds at the side from Viktor’s own teeth.

Yuuri stares, ravenously taking in each gorgeous inch on him, committing everything to memory.

He has always known that Viktor would be beautiful like this but this is beyond his wildest imagination – and they’re only testing the waters still.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, not missing how Viktor gasps soundlessly and turns a darker shade of pink.

Yuuri takes his favored position between Viktor’s legs, knocking them open none too gently.

“Didn’t I tell you to keep them spread?” he asks, a hint of humor in his voice, and is gratified when Viktor unthinkingly mumbles an apology, turning eyes blown wide with lust to Yuuri. The blue is only a thin luminescent ring around the pupils, and it’s almost unfair how this man can be so stunning even when he’s this wrecked. But Yuuri doesn’t have the heart to complain, not when he’s the one reaping the benefits.

The last of his patience withers.

“I’m gonna fuck you now,” Yuuri tells him, proud when the words come out mostly steady.

Viktor’s reaction is to shiver, muscles jumping under his flesh, and stare unblinkingly at Yuuri with wide, lost eyes.

Yuuri aches to know what he’s thinking but turns his attention to himself instead, unzipping his pants and shoving it down just enough to free his cock. Going commando has some perks, even if he’ll have to take special care washing these slacks.

Anticipation hangs thick in the air, either his or Viktor’s or both, while he lubes his dick. It’s a struggle not to keep stroking because he’s been ignoring his need until now and he _wants_ , and maybe he could just come on Viktor and play with him some more until he can get hard again, but Yuuri doesn’t want to wait, wants to just bury himself in the slick, inviting heat between Viktor’s legs.

It’s everything he imagined and more, wet heat squeezing him tight, a thousand times more intense than the way Viktor clenched around his fingers. Yuuri doesn’t take his eyes off Viktor’s face even as he pushes into him, mesmerized by the sight of him slack-jawed and desperate, looking fucked-out even though Yuuri’s barely halfway inside.

“Viktor,” he whispers tightly, hips jerking forward in one swift shove that joins them together completely.

Viktor only moans, high and rough, legs clamping around Yuuri’s hips.

Yuuri stops, hanging his head and waiting until he’s sure he won’t spill at the first twitch of his cock inside Viktor.

“You have until I finish,” he murmurs, just loud enough to be heard. “Come before then or not at all.”

Viktor looks stricken for the split-second before Yuuri starts moving and then he just looks like something straight out of a porno, writhing in the cuffs and whining pitifully with each of Yuuri’s increasingly savage thrusts. His cock bounces with the movement of their bodies, smearing clear fluid on Viktor’s belly, and Yuuri considers giving him a helping hand but doesn’t, in the end, because Viktor knows the stakes and Yuuri’s in the mood to hear him beg.

It’s easier than expected. A few shallow thrusts that grind against Viktor’s prostate get him screaming, spine arching and pulling his body into a taut, sinuous curve, almost like he’s trying to get away from Yuuri except that Viktor’s ass slams back into him instead, taking his cock deeper with sobbing breaths. Yuuri grabs him by the hips, keeping him in place while he slows his strokes to thrust gently into Viktor, finding an angle that makes those lust-drunk eyes blow wide.

“Touch me,” Viktor spits in the end, a sharp demand that rolls off Yuuri.

“Convince me,” is all Yuuri says, the strain of his own climbing pleasure evident in his voice. “Better speed up. I’m close.”

Viktor’s as smart as he’s pretty and catches on quick. It says something about how far they’ve come in the last hour that he doesn’t even resist, just blinks those lovely blues at Yuuri and lets desperation spill from his lips.

“Please touch me, Yuuri, please, I need to _come_.”

“Good boy,” Yuuri purrs, delighted when that makes Viktor’s eyes flutter shut and his head turn to the side like he’s trying to burrow into his pillow. He’ll have to teach him not to shy away from what they’re sharing, but that can wait because there’s beauty in the way this magnificent man is rendered weak at Yuuri’s touch, Yuuri’s words.

He keeps his promise, wraps his hand around Viktor’s cock, and strokes him in time to Yuuri’s thrusts, any semblance of a rhythm shattering as the heat in his gut builds and builds and _roars_.

Yuuri jerks Viktor off with little mercy, hand slick with lube and precum, fingers twisting hard around the head and thumb teasing the slit with little gentleness, faster and faster and faster still as if to tear Viktor’s climax all the way from his bones. It’s easy too, a clever thrust and a rough stroke all that’s needed to finally send him hurtling off the edge. Yuuri shudders when Viktor spasms around him, heels digging into Yuuri’s back as he rides his orgasm with a broken scream. It’s the most natural thing in the world to follow right after, spilling hot inside with Viktor with a gasp of his name.

When the fire in his veins simmer down to a pleasant heat, he blinks the stars out of his eyes and finds himself bowed over Viktor, still half-inside him. Viktor’s legs remain loosely wrapped around him, like he doesn’t have the strength to either keep them there or lower them to bed.

Viktor himself is a gorgeous wreck, panting open-mouthed into his arm, eyes firmly closed even when Yuuri pulls out of him in a gush of come and lube.

There’s a towel somewhere around, and Yuuri searches for it blindly, still ensconced between Viktor’s legs and unable to look away from his blissed out expression. He manages to find it and mops up the mess on them both perfunctorily before climbing up the bed. That finally coaxes Viktor into looking at him, his eyes hazy as he blinks slowly up at Yuuri.

Yuuri smiles, happy and sated, and reaches up to free Viktor’s wrists. There’s a groan when the first one is released, silence at the second, and both droop limply over Viktor’s head.

He’s too pretty, really.

Yuuri gently takes the closest wrist, massaging the skin trapped under the cuffs. He did check it carefully, made sure circulation would be fine, but he’s still gentle about it, pressing close-lipped kisses to the base of each palm before folding the arms over Viktor’s chest.

Viktor endures the treatment stoically, something of his usual reserve there in his countenance.

“You alright?” Yuuri asks, brushing a wet strand of hair back from Viktor’s forehead.

“Quite fine,” Viktor murmurs, not really managing to hide the hoarseness of his voice. “The experience was….satisfactory.”

Yuuri just stares at him for a moment.

“Right,” he says in the end. “I’ll add that to my resume.”

Then he helps Viktor sit. He’s stiff under his touch but doesn’t try to push him away and move on his own, showing that he’s not proud to the point of idiocy. Yuuri doesn’t know whether to marvel or fume at the way Viktor has reverted so swiftly to the almost mechanical man he typically is. He does neither, keeps his expression soft and smiling and distant as he holds a glass of water to Viktor’s lips and retreats to the en suite to collect a wet cloth to better clean them with.

Viktor endures the treatment in dignified silence, and Yuuri has to wonder how much of this compliancy is only because Viktor just can’t walk.

Ah, well. He’s always known this would be a tough nut to crack. And as long as Viktor is fine both emotionally and physically, Yuuri doesn’t care if they don’t cuddle afterwards.

He knows better than to get attached to a man like this.

After everything is done, Yuuri straightens his suit, zips up his fly, and gives Viktor a blank smile.

“Well, that was fun. We should do it again. See you at work, Mr. Nikiforov.”

He’s almost at the door when Viktor speaks.

“It’s late,” he says stiffly. “You should stay. I have a guest room.”

Yuuri’s pretty sure Viktor has more than one guest room, and the inane thought is oddly amusing. He turns to look at Viktor, careful not to let his confusion show.

“I don’t want to impose,” he says very carefully.

“It’s no imposition,” Viktor says quickly, almost too quickly, frowning the next moment. “Stay. Please.”

Yuuri suddenly feels very out of his depth.  But well, it is late and his place is half an hour away on uber. On the other hand, he’s not sure how good an idea it is to stay.

Yuuri holds his breath, Viktor holds his gaze, and time seems to still.

He forces his fists to unclench and nods once.

“Alright then. Thank you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments would be appreciated.


End file.
